


Plaything

by Artifex_Verbum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anatomy, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifex_Verbum/pseuds/Artifex_Verbum
Summary: Home from Harvard, Malcolm disappears to his room in a frustrated huff to have a little alone time. Martin follows him. AU - Martin was never arrested.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

Martin couldn’t help himself when it came to curiosity. It’s what led to his initial downfall. The desire to peel back the layers, literally, and hold life in his hands. Unfortunately, being a surgeon didn’t satiate his thirst for control. It failed to tame the beast that squirmed in his chest, so he took it further. 

He never denied his curiosity. Not at work. Not in his...extracurricular activities. And not at home.

Malcolm had come home in an odd mood. He barely ate dinner, which wasn’t unusual, but his disposition was markedly off. He sat across from Martin, hiding his gray blue eyes beneath those sweeping brown lashes as he pushed his food around the plate. 

It took Martin far too long to put his finger on the emotions that warred within the chest that hid behind the Harvard sweater. It wasn’t anger or sadness...it was frustration. Storm clouds had gathered in his boy’s furrowed brow and rumbled behind his tight lips... Martin felt that same surging killer need to reach inside and examine his boy. To peel back the layers. To show Malcolm that they were made of the same stuff. 

He had to tread carefully though, it would be far too easy to scare off his boy - who he suspected - knew about his darker hobbies. Malcolm had to know the truth. He had come dangerously close to uncovering everything when he was eleven, but Martin had forced down the truth. With his skilled hands and traitorous tongue, he pushed away the reality that he was a serial killer from his boy. Deep down though, he knew that Malcolm knew - which is why he was an anxious mess who often awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and screaming. 

Malcolm finally gave up and let his fork clink against the plate with a huff. The sound broke Martin out of his reverie. 

Jessica tilted her head, a pitying look fixed to her face. She tried to get Malcolm to talk but all of her inquiries were met with curt, one-word answers. Not having had enough wine yet to deal with her pouting son, she gave up and instead asked Martin where their daughter was.

“She’s out with her friends,” Martin said around the food in his mouth. 

“Ah…” Jessica nodded and took another sip of red. She looked at Malcolm once more. “It’s Saturday night dear, why don’t you do the same as your sister? Call someone up and go out? How about Vijay?” 

Martin watched the suggestion land and sour. Jess’s comment was met with a withering glare, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. Malcolm didn’t have an abundance of friends and Martin could tell that his son’s relationship with his childhood friend, Vijay, was strained. The young man hadn’t made an appearance in the manor in quite some time.

“I’m just going to go to bed,” Malcolm pushed his chair away and stood to get rid of his (still full) plate. After he ditched his food, he picked up his navy blue duffle, and disappeared upstairs. 

Martin stayed where he was, sitting and digesting both the meal and the atmosphere. He knew that he would follow his boy, that he would dig deeper, because his nature couldn’t be curbed. But he took his time. He had a drink. He ate some ice cream. He watched Jess vanish like a spectre to her own corner of the house.

Finally, three hours after dinner, Martin put his hand on the railing and lifted his feet from one stair to the next. He knew that Malcolm didn’t want to be bothered, his son had made that abundantly clear during the meal. Still, he climbed the path to the second floor and walked quietly down the hallway. 

Thankfully, his...off the clock activities...had made him an expert in stealth. 

Arriving at his boy’s door, he put his hand on the knob and then paused. Quieting his breathing he strained his ears. His soft breath left his mouth, touched the door and floated back to him. It smelled like the mint chocolate chip ice cream he just finished. 

The fine hair in his ears tickled as they picked up the sound of Malcolm's bed springs squeaking faintly, the soft whirl of the heater kicking on, and then a huff of frustration coming from the other side of the door. 

His patience worn away, Martin took to simply opening the door. 

He didn’t knock. He didn’t warn. He just entered. 

“Hey, what the hell?!” Malcolm squeaked, caught entirely off guard. His blanket and sheets were beyond the foot of the bed on the floor and far out of reach, so instead, he whipped around and grabbed a pillow to hold over his naked body. 

Martin didn’t react beyond swallowing thickly, he only turned to gently close the door behind him. Then he walked towards the bed. 

“What are you doing? Get out!” his boy shouted at him once he was a few feet from the side of the bed. 

Martin's feet came to a halt and he tilted his head slightly. “Is that what you really want? For me to leave?” He observed Malcolm as the question fell in the thick air between them. He witnessed the moment his boy shifted from embarrassed to considering. 

Malcolm’s chest rose and fell as his wide eyes mulled over what he ought to do. He sat cross legged on his bed, his naked chest illuminated by the warm glow of the lights on his nightstands. Goosebumps rose wherever Martin’s eyes fell upon him. 

“No...don’t leave,” his tone was conflicted but the words had taken shape and remained solid.

Martin nodded slightly, pulled in a deep breath through his nose and closed the short gap to Malcolm’s bed. He perched himself on the edge and let the moment simply exist around him. His boy was so keyed up, practically vibrating with nervous energy, squirming in the silence. Something deep in his bones rolled with satisfaction at the way his boy writhed under his scrutiny like a scared rabbit caught at the neck. 

“What were you doing before I came in?” he asked mildly, so as not to spook his little bunny. 

Malcolm’s pale right hand clutched at the pillow in his lap. His left hand was out of view and clearly hiding something. 

“I - nothing…” 

Martin’s patience threatened to wobble. “There’s no point in lying to me Malcolm. You’re not in trouble.” His tone was light but the words were pulled taut. It was difficult for him to summon his willpower and shove down his annoyance. He had to make a conscious decision to turn the tide back to gentle prompting. 

“You’re a young man,” he reached out his right hand and let his fingertips brush against Malcolm’s bare bicep then trail lower, a tickle of goosebumps rising in its wake. The skin beneath the pads of his fingers was warm and freckled and Malcolm sucked in a breath in response as the hand skated down. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Tell me…” he lifted Malcolm’s hidden hand by the wrist. 

The hand came into view, fingers wrapped around a silicone toy. Martin reached for it, gently pulling the cock free from the cage of tentative fingers. He brought it to his own thigh with a sigh. The man-made material was still warm from his boy’s death grip. The head was shiny and he swiped at it with his thumb. 

Malcolm’s eyes were blown huge, twin black pools locked on to Martin’s every move. 

“I can tell that you’re frustrated,” he tread carefully, absently stroking the silicone cock as he spoke. “And that’s not what I want for you Malcolm…” he licked his lip and let his mind wander to imagine what the young man had been doing with this toy just moments ago. “I want you to find relief.” 

Malcolm shuddered and let out a sigh at the notion of being taken care of.

“I tried...I tried to find relief. With Vijay…but it wasn’t...he didn’t...” his throat tightened and the words failed. Tears gathered in his crystal blue eyes but refused to fall. 

Martin lifted his hand and brought it towards the pillow in Malcolm’s lap, ready to remove that final barrier between himself and his baser needs; the monster within ready to take advantage of the fact that Malcolm's young friend had left him frustrated and dissatisfied. Martin grasped at the pillow. His boy’s knee jerk reaction was to clamp down on the object, to keep it from being lifted away and exposing his nakedness. But after a moment, his eyes met Martin’s and he allowed his hands to relinquish their guard. 

Martin took the pillow and deposited it on the floor by the side of the bed. “So were you finding relief by yourself? Before I came in?” 

A blush rose high on the peaks of Malcolm’s cheeks. “No...I wanted to but...it hurt and I gave up.” 

“Ah, I see,” Martin slid his hand over the shaft of the silicone toy and Malcolm failed to suppress the groan that rose up his esophagus. His attempts to cover himself had been abandoned due to the fascination he had with the surgeon’s nimble fingers on the imitation cock. He let his legs fall open a bit, out of their criss-cross pretzel, and his cock was filling out - recovering from the shock and potential embarrassment of being walked in on by his father. 

All of that concern was gone now, it had melted away and was replaced with a thick fog of intoxicating lust. That ache that sat low in his belly and behind his balls returned with full force and he waited with bated breath to see what Dr. Whitly would do. 

“I think it’s time for an anatomy lesson my boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm’s excitement became a tangible thing, a living entity that fluttered within his chest. Adrenaline shot through him with such force that he could feel it twist in his stomach. 

“Do you have lube?” Martin asked.

“Yeah,” Malcolm scooted back a little bit and reached for his nightstand. He grabbed a small cylindrical bottle of lube and handed it to Martin. 

At twenty-years-old, Malcolm had shaped up beautifully. His features showed glimpses of what he would look like as a full grown man, but he still had hints of round innocence clinging to his cheeks. He was skinny and lanky, but muscles had begun to take shape under his pale skin. 

He was simultaneously solid and breakable, a fact that the man sitting perched on his bed prayed would not be taken with time and maturation. 

In a word, Malcolm was breathtaking. 

Martin wanted to both mold him and break him. To hold the flutter of his pulse at his neck captive like a bird caught in the strong cage of his skilled fingers. He wondered just how far could he bend his boy’s hollow bones without breaking them.

“You seem pretty readily accepting of this,” Martin said, eyes trained on his boy. He made no effort to conceal his surprise at the rapid twists and turn of events. 

Malcolm blushed furiously and Martin could pinpoint the exact second that his words drudged up the shame that must have felt familiar to Malcolm by now. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Don’t I?” he asked brokenly. “You’re my father...I shouldn’t want…” 

“Want what?” Martin prodded after Malcolm’s words fell away. 

Malcolm’s eyes trailed off and fixed somewhere on Martin’s chest as he sifted through his own dirty memories and desires. 

“How long have you wanted this with me Malcolm?” Martin asked gently. 

“I...a long time…” Malcolm admitted, feeling a rush of relief at having let go of this particular secret. 

But why? He didn’t deserve the off-brand relief that flooded his chest. He was far from the confessional bench. If anything... he was at the feet of the devil confessing his sins. What good did that do?

Martin itched with pride that his son was, in fact, a monster. Perhaps he didn’t have the stomach for killing, but his appetites were dark nonetheless. To reassure his boy and reward him for his honesty, Martin put a steadying hand on Malcolm’s knee. 

“Thinking about something...desiring it...and actually doing it, are very different things.” 

“You’re trying to talk me out of this?”

“Hardly,” Martin said stolidly. “But I want you to be sure. I want you to vocalize everything you want and everything you don’t want…” 

Malcolm’s train of thought was going off in a different direction. He heard what Martin was saying, but questions of his own were rising in his mind. 

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Malcolm offered. “But what about you? Why are you so readily accepting of this?”

Martin was quieted for a moment as he mentally prepared a suitable answer. Of course, there was no answer that was sane or healthy. 

“Do you want to dominate me?” Malcolm asked in far too innocent a tone. His words had an effect on Martin, who shifted where he sat, his arousal rising like the tide. “Or is it about how...how I’m like an extension of you. Is fucking me like fucking yourself?”

Holy fuck, his boy was going to kill him before he even had a chance to get started.

“Or does my attraction to you feed your…” 

“What? Narcissism?” Martin grinned. He loved watching his boy’s mind work. He detested the fact that he was going to use those gifts to pursue psychology rather than traditional medicine...but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“Or is it because…” Malcolm started, then stopped abruptly. 

Martin’s blood quickened in his veins. He saw the glinting edge of fear in his boy’s eyes and heard the wobble in his voice before his words dissipated. He knew where the question was going and he dared to finish it for him. 

“Because I’m already a bad man and don’t have any farther to fall?” 

The words descended around the pair like a blanket, forting them together in the sacred space of a terrifying unspoken reality. The words only touched the hem of disclosure, teasing at a truth that Malcolm had suspected since he was eleven but had violently shoved away and buried in his broken psyche.

“You know that I’m bad. You know that I’m your father. And yet you want this,” Martin turned the tide. He let his hand skim along the soft skin of Malcolm’s inner thigh and the young man took a deep breath in. “Wanting something for a long time doesn’t ‘explain why you want it.”

“Do I have to explain?” Malcolm’s face darkened. Frustration pulled at the corners of his lips. He was getting upset and Martin suspected that the frustration stemmed from the fact that Malcolm likely couldn't’ figure out himself *why* he wanted this. By all accounts, this was ‘wrong.’ It was ‘dirty.’ It was ‘bad.’ 

Did he think that he was like Martin? That the darkness in the father lived in the son? Or was he desperate to offer something that would please Martin? Did he want to be closer to Martin physically, because he had blocked out just - how - his dad was bad? He couldn’t break into Martin mentally, so he wanted the next closest thing? Or did he think that Martin would punish him? Purge him of this sickness? 

Malcolm awaited his answer and Martin finally gave it.

“No sweetheart,” Martin breathed. “If anyone understands unexplainable needs...it’s me.” 

Malcolm’s chestnut eyebrow dipped a bit at that, but he was soon distracted by Martin’s hand flattening on his hip, next to his cock. 

“I need to make sure that this is consensual. That I am allowed to…” 

“Yes. It is consensual. You’re allowed to do whatever you want.” 

Martin grinned, the white of his teeth catching the sparse light thrown by the nightstand lamp. Oh, his twenty-year-old boy had no idea just what he was offering. 

Malcolm must have caught the flash of predatory power that emanated off of Martin because he visibly shivered. He had offered up not only his body, but his life, and he had no idea of it. 

Malcolm squirmed where he sat and wondered if...in finally acting on his fantasy...his demons might quiet. Perhaps he would be able to eat without feeling sick or dream without waking in a scream. 

Martin said nothing of -why- it was so important for him to secure Malcolm’s consent. He never spoke of what his own father did to him. But he swallowed down his dinner and fought back the memories in a fit of convincing himself that this was entirely different. He had nothing but love for his boy. His Malcolm was a full grown adult. He was asking for this. 

Martins’ thumb flicked open the lid to the lube and he poured some out on the index and middle finger of his right hand. 

“Open your legs,” he instructed.

Malcolm obeyed. 

“Give me your hand.” 

“Why?” 

Martin stared at Malcolm from beneath his tilted brows. “Do as I say. Unless you want to stop. Then say stop and it all comes to a halt. Understand?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good boy,” Martin poured some lube into Malcolm’s upturned palm. The bed shifted and creaked as Martin moved, positioning himself between Malcolm’s pale legs. “Stroke yourself.” 

“Ah...why?...I mean... can’t you?…” 

“Don’t be difficult Malcolm…”

“Or what…” 

Holy fuck was his boy playing with fire. Anger roared to life in Martin’s chest. His heartbeat rushed in his ears and echoed in his cock. He gave Malcolm a pointed glare and watched as his boy involuntarily shook from the heat of the stare. A mixture of red hot arousal and cold blue fear swirled together on his features and painted a stunning purple masterpiece of hyperarousal. 

Malcolm began stroking himself, his wondering eyes never leaving Martin. He was desperate to ask what was about to happen, but he didn’t want to sound needy or whiny. From the moment he had become an adult, Malcolm fought to appear more grown up. 

“I don’t understand,” Martin said, his tone shifting, his hands drinking in the soft skin of Malcolm’s thighs under his touch. “You wouldn’t even let me hug you for years…” 

“I know,” he answered around the knot of guilt that had formed in his throat. He wanted to focus instead on how Martin’s touch zipped along his flesh and set his nerves on fire. “I tried to...keep myself from…” 

“This,” Martin finished for him. 

His boy nodded guiltily. 

“Please,” Malcolm begged. 

The single syllable word struck Martin square in the chest and made his cock ache. If he was sure of one thing, it was that his boy existed to be a puddle of pleading desperation. 

“I know you had biology,” Martin started. “But I think you’ll like my anatomy lesson better,” he finally brought his hand to Malcolm’s most intimate area. 

Rather than be relieved, Malcolm huffed a sound of discontent as the hand landed upon his sack rather than his straining cock. 

“Patience boy.” 

He threw his head back and tried to breathe. 

“Because you took biology, I know that you know all the parts. Well...most of them I’d bet,” he ran a thumb down the seam that ran down the middle of Malcolm’s scrotum. “Still...this is the perineal Raphe,” Martin said, warm enough to send tingles up his boy’s spine. “It extends from the ventral midline of the penis,” he slid an index finger down the underside of Malcolm’s cock and kept going downward. “Down the scrotum...to the anus,” he drug his finger down to that most intimate place and then pulled it away far too soon. 

Malcolm thought that he might hyperventilate. Little black dots swam in the corners of his vision. 

“Be a good boy and stroke yourself.”

Right. He was supposed to be doing that. He’d’ forgotten. With a gulp, he obeyed. 

“It’s good to have a little bit of a distraction for that first push in…” 

“Ah...fuck…” 

“The anus has so many nerves,” he continued, trying to level his voice and not let his own arousal bleed through. His finger played with the ring of muscle as he talked about it. “Inside is the anal canal,” he easily pushed a finger inside. “The inferior rectal valve, the middle rectal valve, and the superior rectal valve,” he pushed another finger inside and Malcolm’s hand on his cock stuttered. 

“Some men clean themselves out before sexual activity...but that isn’t entirely necessary.” 

Malcolm’s breathing was coming in harsh pants now. 

Excitement sizzled in Martin’s chest. It was quite difficult for him to keep his desires in check, but he had to. This was his boy. 

“I’m sure you know about the prostate,” Martin curved his index and middle finger inside of the young man and watched as his narrow hips jerked and his eyes slammed shut. 

Malcolm let out some unholy noise as the surgeon’s fingers crooked and hit that precious spot. His cock jumped and leaked in his hand and he had to let go of it before he came. 

“There’s a fair amount of room in the rectum before one would hit the colon,” he carried on as if Malcolm wasn't seeing stars behind his eyes. 

He stilled his fingers deep inside the heat they were encased in. “You stopped stroking yourself…”

“Had to. Was going to come,” Malcolm blinking away a bead of sweat that was slipping past his eye. 

“You are so hard,” Martin actually licked his lips as he stared at Malcolm’s purplish red arousal heavy on his belly. “Your corpus cavernosum and corpus spongiosum are filled with blood. I like watching you jerk yourself.” 

Malcolm whined, the sound high and tight. He writhed in the bed and tried desperately not to come just from hearing Martin’s words. 

“Agh...I need more.” His legs were wide open now and his hands clawed at his own milky white thighs, leaving irritated red streaks in the wake of his short nails. His shame was gone, long strangled by the overwhelming desire to be filled. 

Martin brought his fingers back to life, this time, gradually pulling them apart. “This is scissoring, widening the space between the fingers, stretching your hole.” 

Malcolm’s chin was to his chest, his eyes locked on to the barely noticeable flex of skin and bone at Martin's wrist. He couldn’t see much other than that. 

“You have a beautiful cock Malcolm.” 

Fuck. This was it. Malcolm was sure that he was going to die right here, right now, drowned in the thick syrupy praise he had desperately sought from his father since forever. His body thrummed beneath the scrutinous gaze. 

“It’s perfect for your body. Elegant. Responsive,” the compliments poured out. He added a third finger. 

“A three finger stretch should be more than adequate for your toy cock…” Martin eyed the silicone dildo sitting temporarily abandoned on the duvet. 

Malcolm’s lashes were wet with tears of frustration and desire. He was propped up on his elbows and his muscles shook as he tried to control the unraveling of his resolve.

“How many fingers would be needed to...stretch me for you?” he said raggedly. 

Martin’s movements jerked and his breath came out sharp and desperate. Surprise hit him like a slap across the face and his cock leaked in the fine trousers Jess had picked out for him only a week ago.  
“Four.” 

Malcolm awaited that fourth finger. He lay there trembling, exposed, a blush high on the peaks of his cheeks that travelled down his neck and splashed across his chest. But the fingers inside of him instead disappeared. Panic reared in his chest but he tried to quell it. He patiently watched the surgeon’s glistening fingers leave him to reach for the dildo. 

Disappointment threatened to sour his hope but he told himself that he ought to be grateful for whatever he got. 

Martin secured the lube and squeezed the bottle, pouring globs of clear liquid down the imitation shaft until it shone. He brought the head of the toy to Malcolm’s hole and asked if he was ready. 

All he could do was nod ‘yes.’ 

Martin stared at Malcolm intently as he pressed inside and he was rewarded with an equally intense stare. His son’s plush lips fell open as an “oh,” escaped. 

Slowly, Martin seated the toy inside of his boy until it’s fake balls were flush against his cheeks. 

Malcolm’s cock ached, but he resisted the overwhelming urge to come. 

“I’m so proud of you my boy,” Martin hummed. “Look how well you’re doing. Look how long you’re lasting.” 

Martin dragged the toy out halfway then pushed in. He did that several times before he pulled it all the way out, letting the fake glans catch on Malcolm’s sensitive hole and listening to the gasp it elicited. He pulled his eyes away from Malcolm’s blown pupils to watch what he was doing, to memorize the way he fucked Malcolm with the toy. 

He was fairly certain that his boy would panic after this was all over and that a repeat would never transpire, so he committed the entire thing to his long term memory. Guilt tried knocking at his consciousness for this, for the future him who would use this as endless jerk-off fuel, but he chucked at the absurdity of that. 

“You’re laughing...are you…” 

“No, you’re perfect Malcolm…” Martin quickly reassured.

“You’re enjoying teasing me...” 

Malcolm sounded hurt. 

“I’m not teasing you, I’m satisfying you.” 

He swallowed dryly and gathered his strength. “No, you’re not,” he dared say. 

Martin’s hand stilled and he pulled the toy free of the tight grip of Malcolm’s ass as confusion and shock rippled through him. 

“You know what would satisfy me.”


	3. Chapter 3

“And what is that Malcolm?” Martin said cooly, despite his insides churning like molten lava. “What would satisfy you?” he purred, already sure of the answer.

Malcolm grit his jaw and fought the urge to pout or say something stupid like, “are you really going to make me say it?” It was apparent that, yes, Martin was going to make him say it. For whatever reason, the surgeon seemed intent on ensuring that this encounter was consensual and that Malcolm was fully aware of what he was doing. 

But how sure could Malcolm be of anything at only twenty years old? Even his memories of years past were only semi-solid, slipping through his fingers like wet sand when he tried to grasp them. His father had done things in the past - bad things - of this he was certain. So how could he now relinquish control like this? 

Deep down, he knew he should fear his father, not be attracted to his darkness and power. And yet, here he was, laid out and panting sex toy still solid in his ass at the behest of his father’s skilled fingers, his virginity about to be taken if it hadn't already. 

Once this can of worms was opened, it could never again be closed. He tried telling himself that maybe this would scratch that itch that burned under his skin for years and he could put his fantasies to bed. 

The bitter truth was though, that Malcolm knew this would only worsen the fever he’d caught for Martin. Despite the fact that it was wrong, he wanted it, and that want burned in his veins. It didn’t help how easily Martin had appeared, had agreed, had fucked Malcolm with a toy that he knew could never compare to the real thing.

Gathering his bravery, Malcolm took a deep breath and said the words that Martin was waiting to hear.

Blue eyes leveled to hazel ones, and he said, “you know what I want. You know what would satisfy me. I - I want your cock.”

Martin’s tongue darted out to lick his lips and his hooded eyes could have undone Malcolm. 

Seeing all of his power, his focus, his lust, trained on him...there because of him...made Malcolm’s cock weep.

“Your wish is my command,” Martin pulled the toy out gently and Malcolm groaned. 

“C-can’t you just...I want you inside…” Malcolm blushed furiously, despite the recent proceedings. He was still so unsure of what he had to offer the doctor. He was lanky and inexperienced and terrified of what doing this meant. But whether he acted on this or not, he wanted it desperately, so wasn’t he already fucked?

“So needy, so desperate,” Martin had a shit-eating grin splitting his face. 

As soon as the silicone was gone, Mal felt remarkably empty and doubly desperate to have Martin inside of him. His eyes belied his desire, snagging on Martin’s tented slacks. 

“Please, I need you.”

Martin stood, continuing to smile as he unbuttoned his shirt. He shucked it off as he walked over to Malcolm’s door and turned the lock. Luckily, Martin had thought ahead. During dessert, while Jess was preoccupied with looking at something Ainsley was showing her, he had dropped some CBD oil into her wine. 

The woman could handle xanax like a pro, but it was amazing how relaxed CBD oil made her. He knew that she would grow tired quickly and retire to bed. And of course, Ainsley wouldn't bother Malcolm. So it was just he and his boy - alone. 

As he walked back towards the bed, Martin undid his belt and slid down his zipper. It sounded so loud in the quiet space and added a finality to what was about to happen. 

Martin’s eyes were heavy as an iron weight upon his boy’s body and he felt pride curl in his gut. He must be truly evil because he really was torturing his boy to his limit. The toy, the conversation, the slow and sauntering way he undressed. He had how many decades of sexual practice under his belt? And his boy had…none?

As Martin's thumbs hooked into his boxer briefs, he paused. 

“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked, breath nearly caught in his throat at the pause.

Martin swallowed and adjusted his mask of confidence, securing it tightly. “I was just thinking about experience,” he slid down his underwear, watching Malcolm watch him. 

He knew that his son had a fetish about hands - specifically, his masterful hands that so easily gave life and take it away. Once free, his cock bobbed up and touched the round of his belly. 

“I couldn’t help but wonder...if you’re a virgin?”

Martin was naked now in Malcolm’s space and the young man was dying to touch and explore...until the question was asked. The dreaded question. He knew it was coming. And he also knew that Martin must already know the answer. So what was the play? Was Martin trying to humiliate him?

Rather than get too caught up in his head, Malcolm decided to just answer.

“I’ve...I’ve never had anyone in my...ass...if that’s what you’re…”

Martin got on the bed, his knees dipping into the duvet. He looked huge as he loomed over Malcolm. 

“Have you ever fucked a girl? Pushed your prick into that warm pink pussy?” he thrummed.

“Ah...fuck…” Malcolm grasped the base of his cock to stop an orgasm. “You shouldn’t talk l-like that. Uhm no. I haven’t uh...been with a girl.”

Martin grinned so wide that his smile could only be described as shark-tooth. “Does the way I talk affect you? Is it what I’m saying or that I’m the one saying it?” 

“The latter.” 

Martin rumbled his approval as he grabbed the tube and added more lube to his fingers.

“I’m ready for you, just…”

“You’re not ready. Not at all,” Martin put two fingers straight into Malcolm’s ass and he bucked. The third went in easily and Martin began working his fingers, gently prying his boy open. It couldn’t have been long until another finger was added, but to Malcolm, it felt like forever. 

“So you haven’t had sex-sex, but have you ever had anyone give you a blow job or visa versa?” 

Malcolm stared at him incredulously. How could Martin have so much control? He felt like he was slowly but surely going insane, burning from the inside out with a white hot desire. And the doctor was asking questions? Investigating his sexual history as his fingers worked?

“No, no one’s ever given me one and I’ve never given one.” 

“Ah, a true virgin,” his father seemed beyond pleased. “I so hoped…”

“Hoped what? That you’d take my virginity?” he dared, not sure what answer he expected.

“Yes.” 

“Oh,” he breathed out as Martin massaged his prostate. “I...need to come...please, I-I’m begging.”

“I like it when you beg,” he darkened, pulling his four fingers out with a squelch that seemed remarkably obscene to Malcolm. 

Martin kissed Malcolm’s abdomen, teased his nipples with his lips and teeth, continued down his abs and was amazed at how soft his skin was. His large hands seemed to engulf Malcolm’s thighs, and his nails scratched along the porcelain surface, adding to the red marks that Mal had already put there. 

“Do you have condoms?” Martin asked, ready for the answer to be ‘yes’ but sure that they wouldn’t fit him. There was one in the wallet of his pants if…

“I don’t want you to wear a condom.”

Martin’s curly head sprang up, his expression rippling with surprise. 

“I want you to...fill me with your come,” he almost couldn’t get the words out, but he had to. And now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop the confessions. “I want you to dominate me. Mark me.” 

“Fucking shit Malcolm,” Martin looked caught off guard and his replies were breathless. 

“As much as I want to dominate you...I can’t, not for your first time.” 

“But will you fuck me without a condom? Please?” 

Martin looked down at his flushed boy. He was nearly coming out of his skin with anticipation. He looked so beautiful - so ready to be taken. How could he deny him?

“You’re clean right?” Malcolm asked, and then hated his brain for reminding him that he was asking his f-....asking Martin to cheat on Jessica. 

“Of course I’m clean…”

“Then fuck me and fill me up,” Malcolm spread his legs and the last of Martin’s resolve vanished. 

Martin grabbed the lube and poured some into his hands, slicking his cock. Despite his age and experience, he knew it was going to be a struggle not to come right away. Martin loved Jessica, he really did, but he loved his boy. He loved cock. 

And more than anything, he could barely believe that this was real. 

Sure, Malcolm acted odd around him. He kept his distance, avoided hugs, his eyes clung to him too long, but he never suspected that this would happen so soon. He thought it might happen, perhaps five years or so down the road, but here they were. And how glad he was to be here, to touch him before anyone else had. 

“You’re so beautiful Malcolm,” he ran a hand through the silky brown hair, pushing it away from his sweaty temples. Martin brought a large hand to his cock and lined himself up. His dick looked so big when held up to the small puckered entrance, but he pushed forward regardless. 

He was holding his body up with one arm, pushed in, and then held himself up with both arms, staring down at Malcolm as he slid home.

“OH...ah....d-da…” he started then stopped himself.

“No, don’t stop yourself. Say it Malcolm,” he pulled out and then pushed back in. 

Every nerve ending in Malcolm’s body felt like it was on fire. He had no idea that sex could feel this good and now that he iknew, he wondered how he could ever stop. How could he sit next to Martin at breakfast? How could he take a shower knowing that the man was right down the hall? How could they sit on the sofa next to one another? 

“What’s my name?” Martin became more insistent and so did his strokes. 

Malcolm snaked one hand under Martin’s arm and hung on to his freckled shoulder and brought his other hand to twine in the older man’s curls. “D-dad. Fuck. Fuck me harder,” he moaned. 

“Are you a slut Malcolm? A cock whore dying for daddy’s come?” 

Some unearthly sound tore from Malcolm’s throat and stuttered against the force of being fucked. “Yes...waited...so long for t-this...for you.”

Malcolm pulled Martin’s head down and craned his head up for a kiss. There was a moment, one singular second where Martin paused, as if a kiss would be the final nail in his coffin. Was a kiss more intimate than spilling his load into his own boy? He didn’t care, dragging the bearded face above him down to connect their mouths. 

When their lips met, Martin finally abandoned whatever had held him back and his expertise took over. He pried open Malcolm’s mouth and plundered the new space with his sharp tongue. He kissed him breathless and fucked him deep, even tilting Malcolm’s hips up so that he could go deeper. 

They kissed until Martin ran out of breath and had to pull away, but even then, Malcolm was trying to chase him, landing upon his neck to lavish kisses there. 

“Why am I broken like this?” Malcolm choked on his own breath, tears threatening to spill as Martin’s beard tickled his face. “Why do I want this? What’s wrong with me?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with you my boy,” he punctuated the words with a thrust before pulling out completely. His boy protested, but could do nothing as Martin’s strong hands flipped him onto his belly. “You’re perfect Malcolm, and if you’re good and don’t come while I fill your ass, I’ll let you come down my throat.” 

Martin maneuvered him roughly, shoving Mal face first into his pillows as he pulled his hips up and spread his ass. He grit out an unholy sound as he took in the sight before him and when Malcolm heard the sound, his legs shook. “I don’t know if I can hold on.” 

“You can and you will,” Martin ordered, the words sinking into Malcolm’s soul like a royal decree. Martin was not to be disobeyed and his command set like concrete between Malcolm’s ribs. 

He thrust back in, all the way, without warning and Malcolm screamed into his pillow. He had no idea that such pleasure was possible. Martin was nailing his prostate and uttering a litany of swearwords punctuated with grunts and moans. 

Mal’s hands itched to go to his erection, to tug and come, but he clawed at his pillow instead. 

Finally, Martin growled, low and deep. “Mine...you’re mine...today, tomorrow, forever,” he declared, the words as solid as his earlier command. It was as if, in that moment, the monster branded Malcolm’s soul. Worse - Malcolm had let him. He had invited the monster in, stoked the fire, and handed him the tool with which to sear his flesh and seal them together. 

Malcolm tried to clench around Martin but the older man was so big that it didn’t really make a difference. He felt stretched to the brink, tears in his eyes from pleasure or pain or both, he couldn’t tell. He could feel when Martin’s cock twitched. He heard his breathing change. The ruler had gone silent as he poured himself inside of Malcolm, warmth traveling to untouched parts. 

After an eternity, Martin pulled out and flipped Malcolm onto his back. 

Martin gave a wicked grin as he kissed Malcolm again, slid down his body, and came to his cock. His hot breath ghosted over the member. “You’ve been such a good boy Malcolm. Don’t worry, Daddy’s going to take care of you,” he kissed the head.

Malcolm’s tears slipped free and he locked Martin into place with his thin thighs. He gripped his wild curls with both hands and howled as Martin took him down like he was born to suck cock. 

How much of an expert was he, Malcolm wondered? Had he done this to other men? Had other men fucked him? Jealousy rose like an inferno in his young chest. 

Martin stared up at him as he blew him and seemed to know his thoughts. “It’s you and me Malcolm. That’s all that matters,” he sank back down and felt the hands in his hair tighten. 

Mal bucked and shoved his cock further, hitting the back of Martin’s throat. The older man just swallowed around him and hummed. Malcolm began to come, his whole body arching off the bed as he shouted “Daddy!” 

He’s pretty sure that he blacked out when he came, because the next thing he knew, Martin was lying in bed next to him, carding a hand through his hair and smiling down at him. 

Thank goodness Mal had already come that morning in the shower. Thank goodness that the shock of being walked in on initially and the stretch and burn of being penetrated had dulled his arousal. It was a perfect storm that allowed his young body to last so long and his f-...Martin...was proud. 

Martin watched as a flipbook of emotions flitted through Malcolm's expression. He expected the panic, the doubt, the shame and waited for those young hands to extend out sharply and push him away, but they didn’t. 

“I don’t think I’d ever stop,” Malcolm whispered. 

“What do you mean?” Martin’s face was right next to his now.

“I’d want to do this with you...I’d never want to stop,” he said with some dawning horror. “This didn’t...didn’t douse my desires. It didn’t scratch an itch. It added gasoline to the fire.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

“How do I face Mo-...Jessica?” 

“How...I...I don’t know how,” he was cut off by Martin's hand turning his chin towards his face. They looked at each other for a long moment before Malcolm closed the distance and kissed him. He faintly tasted of ice cream and coffee and cum and he chased the flavor. 

“I could make you stop,” Martin said, breaking away. “Is that what you want? Freedom from wanting this with me? I could stop it simply by telling you what makes me a bad man.”

Malcolm swallowed.

“I’m sure you’d never talk to me again…”

“No,” Malcolm’s lip quivered. “No...don’t...don’t ever tell me.” 

“Not even when you’re an FBI agent?” 

“You...you know about that? But I haven’t even told…”

“I know.” 

Malcolm shook his head slightly left and right in an unsure ‘no.’ “You drugged me as a child,” he said softly, so quietly that even inches apart, Martin almost didn’t hear. “But that was never...I mean...you never touched me when…”

Martin’s eyes went huge and he propped himself up on an elbow. For a moment, Malcolm got scared. 

“No!” he answered forcefully. “Never. I never touched you sexually until this night, until you were of-age and I had your consent.” 

“Okay,” Malcolm swallowed and nodded. “Okay, I believe you. You were trying to hide something and I got in the way, right?” 

Martin brought his large hand to cup the side of Malcolm’s face. “I thought you had the same darkness in you that I did, but you didn’t, so I took away your memories or you repressed them. 

“You scare me,” Malcolm admitted, looking up at his creator with huge, fearful eyes. “But I love you. And it scares me that I love you.” 

Martin’s features had softened. 

“Would you ever hurt me?” he had to ask, he had to know, and perhaps the soft glow of post-coital bliss would allow him answers to his questions.

The halo of gray curls moved back and forth. “Never. You’re mine Malcolm. You’re my boy.” 

Malcolm let out a sigh that he didn’t know he had been holding. Beats of silence passed between them as Martin’s hand explored Malcolm’s body.

“How can I ever accept myself? Accept that I want this? That I did this? How can I ever forgive myself? Love myself?”

“Sweet Malcolm, I’ll love you enough for a thousand lifetimes, I’ll love you even when you don’t love yourself - especially then,” he brought his mouth back down to the pillowy soft pink lips and lost himself in a deep and languid kiss. The sound of their breathing filled the small space between their faces.

“What happens now?” Malcolm asked when they parted. 

“Whatever you want to happen Malcolm. It’s you and I against the world.”


End file.
